


Asphyxi-Fate 3: Daddy Issues

by victorchewitsshouldntdothis



Series: Asphyxi-Fate [3]
Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: Angry Outbursts at the Dinner Table, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Original Character(s), Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorchewitsshouldntdothis/pseuds/victorchewitsshouldntdothis
Summary: If there is one person in Greenvale who knows how to take a romantic relationship, walk it down a dark alley, and shoot it in the back of the head, then that person is Harry Stewart. Michael Tillotson is unlucky enough to be in the position of wanting his approval for just such a relationship, and he knows that getting Harry to approve of his new boyfriend is going to be a harder task than getting into Yale after wearing sweatpants to the interview.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is part three. Get ready for a trip.

The phone was ringing loudly. As Michael delicately turned the next page of his book, ignoring the sound, the door to the bedroom slammed open and Victor stormed out. Michael looked up at him.

“Why are you just letting it ring?” Victor snapped. “Did the incessant, constant ringing turn you deaf or something?” He made his approach towards the phone, and Michael jerked forward to interrupt him, knocking his book inelegantly to the floor.

“Please don’t answer it!” he cried out. “I know who it is, just let it ring.”

“Let it ring?” Victor sighed, a look of disbelief spreading over his face. “Michael, it’s like I’ve developed psychotic tinnitus. All I hear is ringing, ringing, outside my head, inside my head, constant, constant, ringing! You’ve been living here for weeks and weeks now, it’s time to learn the rules. In this house, we answer the fucking phone!” He reached for the phone to do just that, as a chastised look came over Michael, who silently rescued his book from the floor. He waited to hear what was coming. “Who?” Victor said into the handset, wrinkling his nose. “What? Oh, sure. Yeah, he’s here. I’ll put you over.” He held the phone out to Michael, who looked at it with mild disgust, as if it were poisonous. Victor shook it gently, a manic smile plastered on his face that suggested Michael better handle it soon. Michael gingerly gripped it and put it to his ear.

“Good afternoon,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice. There was a moment before he got a reply. Then, the crackling of breath came over the line.

“Michael,” said the caller. “I have been hoping to speak to you for several days now, but you do not seem interested in answering your phone.”

“I am a guest in someone else’s home, it would be improper to answer their phone,” Michael replied snottily. His statement was in contrast to his real feelings. He had very much already decided that Victor and he had moved in together, even if Victor still referred to him as a houseguest. Or, now and then when he was teasing, as a roommate whose dire fear of papercuts clearly prevented him from writing any rent checks.

“Improper my freckled ass,” Victor whispered. Michael glared at him and motioned for him to be quiet, which Victor did reluctantly.

“Of course it would,” was the reply from the phone. “But you listen to me now, Michael, this has gone on long enough. I want you home.”

“Well that didn’t seem to matter much when you hired my replacement while I may as well have been dying on the side of the road!” Michael shouted, jumping to his feet and impressively losing his cool. He recovered almost instantly, gripping the phone tighter. “I apologise. I am aware the situation was complex when I fell out of touch, but it still appears you don’t need me much.”

“I _want_ you to come home,” the voice repeated sternly. “I am unsure what exactly you are doing, in that little run-down house with that man, but it stops. You belong at home. This is where you live, and if you need an apology, then I am willing to give you one, but it will be face to face. I expect you here by tomorrow at the latest.” Michael blinked, looking from Victor to the floor. He assumed he had been spied on at some point. An unsettling thought.

“I think that that would be impossible, for now my entire schedule’s full,” he mumbled. There was a sharp and irritated sigh, that came over the phone so loudly, he had to move it away from his ear with a wince.

“Tomorrow. At the latest. Or I’ll send someone to pick you up.” The phoneline went dead after that, and it took Michael a moment to want to put it down. When he did, Victor pounced on him, having been listening with interest to the entire call.

“So?” he asked eagerly. “What’s the deal?”

“That was my… my father,” Michael explained weakly. He was still staring down at the phone, as if it was about to grab him and yank him home through the wires.

“ _That’s_ who’s been calling? Your father?” Victor scoffed. “God, why didn’t you say? Well, what did he want?” Michael looked down, ashen-faced, at Victor’s inappropriately excited expression.

“He wants me to come home,” he said.

“For a visit?” Victor asked. Michael shook his head. Victor gave him a small pout of confusion. “I thought you told him you fucked off to live in sin with your boyfriend,” he pointed out. “That _is_ what you told him, isn’t it?”

“No, not exactly,” Michael mumbled. “I just said that, after everything, I was staying with someone who was… looking out for me. I believe I made it clear it was romantic. But I… uh… I…”

“Oh. I get it.” Victor crossed his arms, fixing Michael with a knowing look. “You implied it was a _girl_. And you’ve been avoiding daddy’s calls in case you let slip that, pretty as I am, I am not a girl. Am I close…?” Michael acted offended, but Victor was right. And Michael suspected he was already certain he was right, in that annoying way that he always seemed to know whenever something was going on behind his back. It was infuriating. Michael had indeed hoped and assumed that his father would believe he was living with a woman, because it would cause far less problems for him in the long run. He thought perhaps, just perhaps, there was a slim chance of him being able to convince Harry Stewart that he should be able to date another man. In some possible reality. But he knew that there would be a question of who it was, and he was absolutely certain that Victor would not successfully impress his father. Though, he now wondered if the cat was already out of the bag.

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael said dismissively, hoping he wouldn’t have to confirm Victor’s guess. “What matters is that I cannot move back there. I want to stay with you.” He approached Victor, wrapping his arms around his waist, and smiling warmly. Victor remained unmoved.

“Don’t try and play me!” he scoffed, grinning. “You can’t just gaze all lovingly at me and then expect me to agree to have the phone ringing off the hook day and night, until your dad eventually reports me to the police for kidnapping you! Nu-uh. That’s not how I’m going down. No Lindbergh baby kangaroo courts for Victor Chewits.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“You do find the need to be so dramatic about everything,” he muttered. Victor reached out and brushed Michael’s bangs from his eyes.

“So, you don’t think that your dad, the guy who never speaks out loud and lives on the outskirts of town like actual Dracula, striking fear into the hearts of the townsfolk… _that_ guy wouldn’t be upset to find out his would-be legacy is slumming it in town with a little blonde fuck-up like me?”

“I’m… sure it would be fine,” Michael lied, admirably he thought, considering how big of a lie it was. He remembered the time he had asked his father if he could take some of the money out of his trust fund to buy a laptop computer. Or the time he had dyed his hair, back when he was sixteen. Or, not long before he had disappeared from his old life, the day he had dared to stop for a two-minute conversation with the now-dead Anna Graham in the diner, and been scolded fiercely in the car the moment he and his father were alone. He wondered if there was a chance that Victor, joking though he seemed to be, was actually right. The idea was not a pleasant one.

“I feel like if I was caught with every single one of the Sodder children, I’d still be in less trouble,” Victor snorted. He did not seem to have swallowed Michael’s lie at all. He snapped his fingers suddenly, making Michael jump. “Hey! Sodder is pretty close to Tillotson, isn’t it? Thematically I mean. Farming bullshit. Did you ever wonder…”

“No, I have never wondered,” Michael sighed angrily. “Please, let’s stay on topic. My point is that I don’t want to go back there. I have moved on, as adults are meant to do, and now I am perfectly happy here, with you.” He smiled a little at the end. Victor let him have three seconds of smiling in return, before ploughing ahead.

“You should go back at least once, though,” he said. “To get your things. Move out for good. Oh, and by the way… you should probably ask me if I’m cool with you moving into my fucking house on a permanent basis. As you never have.” Michael frowned. This was just the kind of conversation he wanted to avoid. He could not believe his father was still, somehow, managing to screw up his life.

“Victor, please,” Michael said, using his soft, keening voice which he had come to realise got past Victor’s defences nicely. “I love you. Don’t you love me? Why are you doing this…?” Victor wavered, physically squirming and beginning to slightly flush in the cheeks.

“Stop it!” he said loudly. “You can’t do the voice you do when we’re… Look. I… I’m okay with you living here. But you have to understand that we’re not, like, ‘living together’. You’re just staying with me, ‘cause you don’t have anywhere else to go. And it makes sense, because this way we can hook up whenever we want, and I save gas money I would spend driving over to pick you up. Okay?”

“Of course that’s okay with me, Victor,” Michael said, in the exact same voice. He moved in closer, holding Victor at the waist and gently sashaying his hips back and forth, quite aware they were close enough to keep brushing against one another. “I understand how difficult these things can be for you.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s right,” Victor mumbled awkwardly, glancing down at their hips as they kept coming against each other. “I’ve… n-never lived with anyone before, romantically like, and I can’t start that… so soon… right now.”

“I admire your honesty,” Michael murmured. “And anything you want is completely fine with me. As always, I am happy to do anything you want, anything at all.” Victor didn’t reply this time. He had gone silent and was staring downward. Michael’s plan, if two seconds of thought could be called a plan, was working perfectly. In another minute, Victor would completely forget what they had been talking about, and Michael would not have to address the possibility of going home. Now, he just had to apply a similar tactic anytime Victor heard the phone ringing, and he was safe.

“Wait!” Victor cried suddenly, stumbling backwards, wobbling, and almost landing on the floor. “Look, Michael, no funny stuff. We have to address this. You need to go home, okay?” Michael’s face fell. If that hadn’t worked, nothing was going to convince Victor. He really was a man of simple tastes. “Not forever!” Victor went on. “But how about a visit? Just for one day. You can get your stuff, your dad will stop worrying, and most importantly he won’t call here six times a day anymore. And don’t think I don’t know that those are just the ones I’ve heard. Plus, I won’t go to prison for stealing his precious son. Is that something you can get behind?” Michael was not pleased with the idea, not at all. He was still angry after what had happened, and until the spite he was feeling died down, he did not want to have to see Harry Stewart face to face. On the other hand, it would be nice to have his own clothes again. Not to mention his diary, and his books. As many as he could load into the car, at least.

“Fine. I suppose so. If I must,” he muttered, stiffening up unhappily. Victor came and pecked him on the cheek, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Thank god,” he said. “Now, about that offer you just made, something about anything I wanted…”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just realised that I suddenly feel the need to watch reality television, and fail to hear the next words out of your mouth,” Michael said stiffly, hoping his sarcasm was physically painful to hear, and sitting back on the sofa with one leg folded over the other. “What a terrible shame that is.”


	2. Two

The next day, Victor and Michael stood next to one another on the front steps of the Stewart mansion. Michael had not said a word in the truck, and was dead silent now as well, rigid as a lamppost. Victor nudged him in the ribs with his index finger.

“Lighten up, it’s not a funeral,” he said cheerfully. In his arms, he was clutching a bouquet of sunflowers. Michael looked down at them again, uneasy as ever.

“That is not an appropriate gift,” he muttered, needing something smaller and more within his control to nit-pick. Victor snorted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he came back sarcastically. “What is the right gift for ‘I’ve been five inches deep inside your son’s ass’?” Michael snapped his neck toward Victor so fast it cracked. His cold glare said enough.

“If you talk like that in there,” he angrily whispered. “I will leave you.”

“Fine by me,” Victor scoffed, and knocked hard on the door. After a few minutes, it opened, and Michael felt his heart fall. They were greeted by the smiling, chirpy face of the nurse from the hospital. The redhead. She looked between the two of them expectantly.

“Hello!” she said. “Michael, it’s nice to see you! I was really worried when I heard everything that happened. I mean, like, everyone was. And then people started saying you were dead! It was super good to hear you were okay after all.” She was beaming. Michael could not decide if it was a habit from working in a service profession, or some kind of terrible, genuine sunny outlook on life.

“Hello, yourself!” Victor answered, just as cheerfully. “And who might you be?” Michael cleared his throat pointedly, hoping that Victor would remember their promise to freeze out whoever had replaced him. Apparently not.

“I’m Fiona,” the girl said. “And you’re…? I didn’t realise there would be two people coming over!” Victor grinned at her, crooked, displaying his teeth in what Michael recognised as his usual lead-in to flirting. He cleared his throat again, and was once more ignored. Victor handed off the flowers for him to hold.

“Fiona, I’m Victor,” Victor said, reaching out and giving her hand a quick squeeze that pretended to be a handshake. “You seem like a delight.” Fiona brought the hand immediately to cover her lips and giggled to herself. Michael was tempted to go and wait in the truck. He clearly wasn’t needed. “So, you and Michael are friends, ey, Fiona?” Victor went on, conversationally, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

“Not really,” she laughed. “But we know each other from around. We used to see each other at the hospital and stuff, when Harry came in. I don’t think we ever talked much, but it’s nice seeing people my own age. Like, because in the hospital, you don’t normally, and I’m there all the time. I’m so busy.” Michael sensed that, if allowed, she was going to go on and on, when all he wanted was for this all to be over already. His inbuilt urge to remain polite kept him from saying anything.

“Shame,” Victor said smoothly, swapping his smile over to the other cheek. “Sounds like the two of you would have got along great. Anyway, Fiona, can we head on in?” She nodded happily, and turned to lead them into the mansion. Victor slowed his pace and, when Fiona was a way ahead of them, said in a low whisper to Michael, “Why didn’t you ever try and get in on that? She would have been all over you.”

“What?” Michael hissed back. “Victor, focus. This is not the time.”

“Sure, sure, whatever,” Victor muttered back. “Missed opportunities, that’s all.”

“Well, I suggest you don’t try and compensate on my behalf!” Michael hissed angrily, darting his eyes ahead as an afterthought in case he had been too loud. Fiona did not seem to react, so he assumed she hadn’t heard. Within a moment, they had reached the dining room. Michael’s heart skipped. He was back home at last.

Sitting beside a table, in his chair, was Harry Stewart. As he caught sight of Michael, he lifted his arm, no doubt about to wave Fiona away. Then he seemed to notice Victor, and froze. It was hard to tell what his reaction had been. He was wearing a gasmask. Michael remained still, waiting to be called. As always. Harry turned towards Fiona, and motioned for her to leave, which she did with a quick goodbye to the two of them. When she had left the room, Harry reached up and carefully detached the mask from his face. He placed it down on the table in front of him. His face was stony. Michael knew it was time to regret their choices so far.

“Michael,” Harry said. “I see you chose not to come alone.”

“I… I… no, I…” Michael tried, failing to push any words out. In an attempt to cover for him, which Michael appreciated but considered unwise, Victor stepped forward.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. We brought some flowers,” he said pleasantly, offering his hand. Harry considered it for a moment, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. Victor ran the hand through his hair instead, when he realised it was not going to be shaken.

“As I presume you know, I am Michael’s father,” Harry said. He spoke as if he was addressing a room, with very little personality or warmth to his voice, just a vague sense of disapproval. “My name is Harry Stewart.”

“Well then, we have something in common,” Victor pressed on, attempting to sound sunny still. “I’m Harry Chewits. Pleasure.”

“Victor, it’s no time to joke,” Michael mumbled unhappily, a little frightened by the idea of him goofing off at this crucial moment. He could see his father was not impressed, already.

“Uh, I’m not,” Victor said, seriously, to Michael. “Victor is my _middle_ name. Parents named me after Frankenstein, as a little joke, because we’re from Dracula country. I guess John was too boring, but my sister’s middle name is Lucy, so they still had their fun. That’s just how the family is. My full name is Harry Victor Chewits. I thought I told you?”

“No… I would have remembered…” Michael squeaked. It was not the ideal moment to find out his father and his boyfriend had the same first name. Harry Stewart, Harry Chewits. Disastrous.

“If Victor is what you go by, then I’ll call you that,” Harry said, drawing the conversation back under his control. “There is no need for things to get… confusing. Now, why don’t you both sit.” He waited a moment for Michael and Victor to take him up on the offer. Michael went automatically and was sitting at the table at once. He placed the sunflowers down on the table top, hoping the poorly considered gesture went ignored. Victor sauntered around to the other side, and took the other chair. Michael looked at him, desperately, for a moment. As if there was a chance they might still be spared.

“Mr. Stewart…” Michael began, but a look stopped him.

“Why exactly did you bring this man with you, Michael?” Harry asked. “I don’t notice any bags. I assume he is just here to say goodbye to you.”

“We thought we might all have a talk,” Victor said carefully. Harry looked him over, then turned straight back to Michael.

“Michael, I asked you. What is going on here?”

“Um…” Michael’s head dropped so he could look at his lap and not the expectant eyes of the people with him. He tried to think about what he needed to say. He had had a plan, what was it? “Mr. Stewart, my intention is to keep living with Victor. I have been doing well there.”

“Is that so?” Harry asked, slowly. Michael nodded his head fiercely. Harry thought for a moment. “I don’t think that will work, Michael,” he said at last. “I want you to move home today.” Michael looked up sharply, eyes wide, genuinely a little surprised. He thought there would at least be an argument. This was just a refusal. Before he could answer, Victor began again. In any other situation, he would be touched by Victor coming to his rescue. Now, he was far too nervous about what it would lead to.

“Harry, if I can call you that,” Victor started. “I think what Michael’s trying to say, is that he’s really spreading his wings at my place. And I’m looking out for him. He’s totally safe, I promise.”

“I am not concerned with his safety, young man,” Harry said sharply, looking now at Victor, who twitched. “I am concerned with losing the last of my two sons to something as run-of-the-mill as a doomed infatuation.”

“Doomed –?” Victor began, but Harry talked over him.

“Michael, you are aware, I hope, that this man is a terrible choice for you?” As the words reached him, Michael blinked, feeling increasingly overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry… Mr. Stewart, I… what do you mean?” he asked weakly.

“If you must make a fool of yourself like this, then you have to choose well,” Harry carried on. Clearly, he had his thoughts in order. He must have been prepared for the possibility of Victor showing up here, Michael thought. “Do not demean yourself by finding some unemployed… _townie_ … to attach yourself to. I recognise that you have struggled with your confidence before, but choosing to settle on the first thing that comes along speaks very badly of you. You have to be better, Michael. Demand something more appropriate for yourself.” He paused a moment to let Michael absorb the speech so far. “Now, if you are desperate to date, I am sure I can speak to some business contacts of mine. Plenty of them have daughters around your age. And if none of them will do, then I am sure… at least one of them will have a son you could consider. Actually, I think I remember an old associate saying something about a son at MIT who bent that way. I could call him, I’m sure.”

“I’m… pardon me?” Michael stammered.

“He’s saying you can be gay if you have to be, so long as it doesn’t involve any townie trash like me,” Victor explained sharply. “And for the record, I am not a townie. I’m from Boston. I mean, I lived there a long time, anyway.” Harry let out a smug, muted laugh in response.

“That explains the idiot drawl, then,” he sneered. “My point is, you’re common, young man. You sound common, you look common, and you’re far below my son. I assume the two of you have already consummated this ill-fated endeavour, which is regrettable, but it isn’t too late for Michael to walk away with a little pride. My son will be moving back home today, and I would prefer that the two of you cut off all contact at once. Possibly after one more exchange, if he still has things to collect from your shack.” Victor got to his feet, hands planted firmly on the table, and his expression cold. Michael had not seen Victor truly angry before. Pissy, frustrated, or in a complaining mood, but not coldly angry. If only he could say something to stop what was about to happen, and yet he was completely frozen solid.

“Listen to me, old man,” Victor snapped. “Michael’s coming home with me, whether you like it or not, because that’s what he wants. That’s his choice. And the two of us are happy together! You can talk all you like, but that isn’t changing. Michael and I are living together. We’re going out. He loves me. And… I…” he glanced nervously at Michael for a split-second before pushing ahead, unflinchingly finishing with “And I _love him!_ ”

The room went silent. Michael was sure he was having an out of body experience. He could see everything in third person, and he had come over completely numb. This moment was far too much to process. In his stomach, there was the dead, sunk feeling he recognised as the sign that he had disappointed his father, and gravely embarrassed himself in a way that could not easily be made up. And yet. In his chest, he felt a rise, a lightness, like nothing he had known before. Victor had said he loved him. Genuinely! He had said it and meant it, for certain, and for the very first time. He wanted to sing, but he also wanted to die. It was very difficult to focus on one over the other, right now.

“Michael?” Harry shouted. “Well?” Michael inched his face rigidly to look in Harry’s direction, his expression stuck as a horrified blank. He tried to mumble something, and failed. “Are you going to let this boy talk to me like that? Are you justifying what he has to say? Are you going to actually go ahead with this stupid, stupid plan…?!”

“I’m… I’m…” Michael tried to focus. He had to answer. He needed to think about what he was saying.

“Yeah, Michael!” Victor joined in. “Let’s go, let’s go home right now. I love you, Michael. I fucking said it, just like you wanted, and I meant it, too! Let’s go home. Let’s go and be together.”

“Vi… Victor, I’m…” Michael was still drawing a blank. He knew he had to answer, and soon, as the time pressure built and built without any word from him. Victor and Harry were both glaring at him, waiting to see which way he fell. In the end, unable to formulate words, Michael got to his feet, let out a strangled sob, and ran through to his bedroom to hide.


	3. Three

Michael was lying face down on his bed when he heard the door open. A moment later, Victor sat himself down on the edge of the bed next to him. Michael withdrew his face from the pillow enough that they could make eye contact.

“That went sideways quickly,” Victor snorted. Michael groaned weakly.

“What happened after I left?” he asked. Victor shook his head and let out a low whistle.

“Your dad’s arranged for you to marry Carol MacLaine,” he said sadly. “He said that, as a local business owner, she’ll be able to support you while you pursue your dream of becoming the first bottom to walk on the moon. It was tough, but in the end, he agreed to let me be your best man. Get ready for the stag party of your fucking life.”

“Do you take nothing seriously!” Michael snapped, though he was secretly thankful for Victor’s sense of humour. Hopefully it meant nothing had gone too badly wrong. Victor sniggered at his own bit. When he had got it out of his system, he looked down at Michael and began to idly stroke the back of his head. Michael sighed warmly under his breath.

“So, you have a brother?” Victor asked. Michael frowned, not understanding, until he remembered Harry’s outburst.

“Not… no,” he said. “But Mr. Stewart had another son. A real son. Long before he adopted me.” He thought for a moment on how to delicately phrase the next part. “He, uh, they’re no longer in contact. Something happened to him… recently.”

“What a shame,” Victor muttered. “Having one good sibling tends to take the heat off. Ask my sister.”

“I _am_ the good son,” Michael protested weakly. He doubted anyone would see it that way right now. Somehow, even though his pseudo-sibling had just been arrested for murder, he was still the one whose mistakes seemed the most offensive to their father. It was not the fairest thing. “What really happened after I left?” he asked finally. Victor gave a small sigh.

“We sat there in silence for a few minutes, waiting for you to come back,” Victor explained. “Then your dad told me I was a fool for thinking I was in love with you. That you were too naïve to know how you felt. I managed to resist stoking the fire. We waited. You did not come back. Then, eventually, he got this resigned look in his eye, and told me to go and clear this whole thing up. I think he finished with ‘if he insists on being dramatic, maybe you can pull him out of it’. So, here I am. Pulling you out of it.”

“Do you think I’ve done something wrong in this, Victor?” Michael asked, rolling over and kneeling up on the bed. Looking at him pleadingly. “He does need me. I should not have left, I understand that, but… the way I’ve been feeling…”

“Hey, hey, no,” Victor said, hushing him, leaning gently on Michael’s shoulder. “Listen… I know a thing or two about bad dads. Your dad is a fucking jerk, do you get that? Like, you can see that? He’s not happy for you. He doesn’t care what you want.”

“Because he wants what’s best for me! He always has!” Michael protested, the argument sounding feeble even to him. “Ever since we met, he’s wanted me to do the best I can.”

“The best at what…?” Victor asked. “Certainly not the best at being happy or comfortable in yourself.” He frowned. “I just think you… deserve something better than… than that.” Michael stared down, softly tapping his fingers to avoid focusing on what was being said. “Cause, like… I love you.” Victor had said it again. Michael looked up at him, and closed his eyes as Victor leant in for a kiss.

“Do you promise me that you mean that, Victor?” he murmured a second later.

“Sure I do,” Victor murmured back. “I couldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He kissed Michael again, and Michael grabbed needily for him, tugging at his hair, and slipping backwards onto the bed. Victor fell onto him, and they held tight, faces together. Michael let out little moans in amongst the kisses. After a few minutes, Victor stopped it, and sat himself up, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “Don’t wanna get carried away,” he coughed. “We’ll get in more trouble than we’re already in. God, feels like being a teenager again, though.”

“Perhaps for you,” Michael said, half-jokingly. “I think as a teenager I spent more time learning the piano than… getting into trouble.” Victor laughed and Michael was happy to have amused him. Though the memories were not, he felt, that funny to have lived through. Far more lonely than funny.

“Are you ready to go home…?” Victor asked. Michael was caught off guard, and found himself watching Victor getting to his feet and surveying the room, without being able to say a word. “We can get plenty of stuff in the back of the truck, if you want,” Victor carried on, without noticing Michael’s change of mood. “At least a good couple of boxes of books, plenty of clothes. I don’t have tons of room back home, but we’ll manage.” Michael’s eyes darted around his room. Very little about it had changed since he had first moved in, at age fifteen. Really, only the contents of the wardrobe. A slight shift in the various books he had in his collection. He had been so relieved when he had first arrived, that he had not imagined ever leaving. Yet, here he was. Planning to move out. It was all starting to feel like too much.

“I, uh… haven’t gone through anything…” Michael said dismissively. Victor shot him a quick smile, then went and opened up the wardrobe. Watching that made Michael flinch protectively. He was not used to people touching his things.

“Do you think we’ll find any boxes in the house?” Victor asked, thumbing through the clothes like he was browsing in a store. Michael stood up, then sat straight back down again, clenching his fists in his lap. He looked down at the whitening knuckles to distract himself.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“We can get some plastic bags or something,” Victor said, as he carried on weeding through the various hangers. “This is gonna be weird, right?” he added, cheerfully, turning momentarily to smile at Michael, who grimaced faintly back. “If there’s not enough space, we can always think about getting somewhere else. I noticed there’s plenty of empty houses around here. Loads of places to rent. Once you get a job, we should be able to afford something bigger. Be proper housemates. Say, have you thought about that much? Like, what kind of job you’re going to look for?”

“What?” Michael mumbled.

“Well, to pay the rent,” Victor went on. He pulled out one of Michael’s suit jackets, and held it against himself, before putting it back. “There’s bound to be stuff going. What do you think? Waiter? Orderly? Clerk? I saw a sign looking for help outside this coffee place in town, Purple something. Maybe a barista?”

“Victor, what… what are you talking about? Sorry, I… I wasn’t…” Michael stammered, trying to focus on what was happening. While his mind was stuck playing back six years of memories, and jumping all over the place.

“Are you okay” Victor asked, frowning at him. “I’m just saying, you need to think about it now, right? If we’re going to actually do this, then we need to have a plan. I am taking a wild, random, stab in the dark that you lack any real work experience outside of this house, so you need to start small. For me, I was a clerk for a while, and when I realised I was goddamn awful at that, I floated around for a bit. ‘Kindness of strangers’ sort of deal, you know. Streetcar. You know what I mean. Anyway, then, eventually, I managed to fall into the freelancing thing. Sure, it doesn’t pay _well_ , but it pays something. And there’s always… other ways to make money, when times are especially hard. But!” He clapped his hands together sharply. “I think for you, something nice and simple, right? There’ll be something out there. Maybe you could even be an assistant somewhere else, if anyone is looking? Run some errands, get some coffees, that kind of thing?” He was smiling now, but Michael certainly wasn’t.

The idea of leaving home for good was bad enough already, but what Victor was describing was not something Michael had thought would ever happen to him. Not something he had thought for a long time, at least. He was meant to stay here, look after his father, be slowly groomed to take over the business interests, and eventually inherit. Carry on the rather cursed family name, at least in spirit. Not trade it all in on a whim for an entry level job and a life slightly above the breadline, just because he had happened to fall in love. No. Michael was starting to see exactly what Harry meant, now. It was all well and good to go skipping off into the sunset, if it worked out perfectly. What if it didn’t? If a year from now, or two or three, he and Victor went their separate ways, then what would he have to show for it? Nothing. He would be out on his own. Like before. That was never, ever supposed to happen again. He was safe here. Lonely, certainly, but safe. Relatively happy. He had been, at least. He was sure he had been relatively happy, before he had got his hopes up about other possibilities.

Michael looked over at Victor and narrowed his eyes, remembering all the little bits and pieces that Victor had told him about his own family. He had run away. Regardless of what exactly had happened, it seemed pretty clear that he had run away, and made sure to stay away, for the rest of his life. Victor had parents somewhere, miles away, and he had chosen to quite thoroughly walk away from them, for good. It was not a situation Michael could find himself sympathising with. Even his sister had made it very obvious that Victor wanted nothing at all to do with his family. And that was all well and good, all fine, for him. If that was what he wanted. Michael just didn’t think he could make the same choice. Harry had been very good to him. He had taken him in, and treated him well. If the worst thing Michael could say was that he was unaffectionate and cold, did that really matter? Even today, even now, he had been more understanding than Michael had expected. He just wanted what was best for him. He always did. While it pained him to admit it, Michael had to reason with himself that perhaps what was best for him was not, in fact, what he wanted.

“Victor, I cannot do this,” Michael said flatly.

“Well, we can talk more about jobs later, when we’re home,” Victor said. He shrugged it off, but as Michael kept on staring at him, he faltered. “Uh. Is there… more?”

“As… much as it is what I would like to do, I do not think I can go with you,” Michael mumbled. Victor walked over to him, sitting down beside him on the bed, and putting an arm over his shoulder.

“Run that by me again, Michael?” he said quietly.

“I can’t,” Michael whispered. He hung his head. “It won’t work.”

“Sure it will,” Victor insisted. “Michael? Sure it will. We’re gonna make it work. You and me.” Frowning, he lifted Michael’s head up so that he was forced to look at him. “Come on, don’t be weird. Let’s get your stuff and go home.”

“It…” Michael struggled to hold onto eye contact. He blinked once, then, eyes clouding over, went on robotically. “I realise now this is a foolish thing to try. It will be easier for us to… say goodbye.”

“Don’t do that!” Victor snapped. “God, you let your dad get into your head, and now you’re all worried!” He leapt to his feet and stalked back and forth across the room, while Michael stared dumbly into space. “It’ll be fine, okay? Mickey. You and me. God, I could _kill him!_ ”

“I’m not ready,” Michael muttered. “I can’t give up everything I have for some… doomed infatuation.”

“Then why did you do this to me?!” Victor shouted. Michael jumped, wrapping his arms defensively around his shoulders. Victor screwed his fingers up in his hair and breathed hard out through his nose. “Why would you make me think we had something, if we don’t, Michael?” he went on. Michael refused to look up, digging his fingers deeper into his shoulders and willing the world away. “I fucking told you I don’t do relationships, and you pressured me! You kept telling me it was going to be good! You told me that you _loved me_. But you don’t, huh? You don’t? Say that you _don’t_ , and own up to it, Michael!”

“That isn’t the problem,” Michael mumbled unhappily. The strain was beginning to overwhelm him. He wished they were still sitting on Victor’s sofa, ignoring the phone as it rang, and putting this off, forever and ever. “I do love you.”

“Oh, don’t!” Victor snapped. “What? You _love_ me, but not more than living in this fucking mansion, counting down the days ‘til it’s all yours, huh?” He sneered, and when Michael glanced up twitchily for a second, it was enough to raise a lump in his throat that he could not manage to swallow back down. “Well, shit, Michael. I’m sorry. Live your little rich boy dreams, then. See if I give a shit. I know where I belong, and I can happily crawl back down into that gutter without you. I was doing just fine before! And I’ll do just fine after.” He stopped to laugh, a disjointed and feverish sounding thing. “Maybe I’ll go give Carol a call, you know? See, that’s what I like about her, Michael. We both know where we’re from. We know _what_ we are. You may be a fahkin’ gilded lily in a crystal vase, but there’s a beauty in knowing that you’re worthless and owning it. I _get_ that I’m trash. I can live with that. I’m sorry you can’t.”

“ _Do you know what my life has been like?_ ” Michael shouted, as the well inside him crumbled, and tears began to bubble angrily over the surface. He got to his feet in one sharp movement and, a moment later, was shaking his hands in Victor’s face. “This isn’t how I grew up, Victor! This is not who I _was_! This?” He stretched out his arms and gestured around the room, as the streaming tears began to drip off his jaw, and he glowered. “This is a _miracle_! It is still a miracle that I am thankful for every day of my life! And yes. I may have reasons to be unhappy, or angry, but I can overlook them. Because, Victor, as you have conveniently chosen to overlook, this is a _good_ life. It is safe. There is a future. _I_ have a future.” He stabbed a finger angrily at Victor’s face, and Victor turned his head, blinking rapidly. “Do you think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Victor? Because I was not. I was _rescued_. Harry Stewart chose to save my life because he saw something in me, and I will never, ever, be able to repay him for that. It has been too easy to forget that recently. I thought… after I thought he… I thought he chose to sell me short –”

“He did!” Victor shouted, though the fire was long gone.

“He was wrong!” Michael snapped back. “And he is trying to make that up to me, now. He wants me to come home! He needs me here. He _loves_ me.”

“Needs you, maybe,” Victor scoffed weakly. “But he’s trying to control you, you can’t act like you’re _happy_ that he’s –”

“I owe him my life! My future! If he wants to control it, then that’s how things are going to be!” Michael stopped to breathe. In the moment of silence, they stared at one another, and Michael recognised how thoroughly shell-shocked Victor now looked. But he wasn’t going to waste any time on caring. “I am not going to leave again. I intend to stay here.” He crossed his arms. That was the end of the discussion. When Victor reached out to touch him, he stepped backwards, out of the way.

“God, are you serious? You’re going to let him do that?” Victor asked softly. Michael had stopped crying. He did not want to break out of his rigid pose to wipe his face, but he had stopped.

“You may not value your family, Victor, but other people know what it is like not to have one to discard,” he muttered under his breath. Victor started to say something. Then he stopped. He began to take a step towards Michael, and once again stopped. Michael watched from the corner of his eye as Victor shook his head and rubbed at his eyes.

“Fine,” he said stiffly. “Look. There isn’t much of your stuff at the house. Nothing, really. If you want to come and look, fine. Come and get whatever you want, whenever. Otherwise, I’m pissing off now. You know where I live.” He began to walk slowly towards the door, and Michael felt a new wave of tears coming up. He impulsively let out a single sob, and Victor stopped and sighed. “Maybe I don’t love you, even,” Victor said flatly. “Maybe it’s just a feeling. It’ll pass. I was kind of angry when I said it. I didn’t really mean it.”

“Stop it!” Michael moaned, turning towards him. “At least leave that. Don’t take that away.”

“Why not?” Victor scoffed darkly. “It’s easier then. For both of us. It’s just an _infatuation_ , like you said, then. Easier to forget about.”

“Let me have everything up until now!” Michael pleaded. “I mean…” He began to think now, as it was becoming real, about how to back out. “It doesn’t have to end, I just… you don’t want me living there, anyway. We can still see each other. Let’s do that, yes. Yes, you’d like that better! We can take our time!” Michael found himself walking over to Victor and, without quite being able to stop himself, was soon clinging to his arm. “I won’t rush you anymore. We can move nice and slowly. We can be cautious. But we love each other. I love you, and you told me you loved me. You don’t get to take it back. You said it. You promised me you meant it. You aren’t _allowed_ to say that you don’t.”

“I can do whatever the living fuck I want, Michael,” Victor snarled. “It’s Night of the Living _Fuck You_. Dawn of the Consequences for Your Fucking Actions. You think you can play it off both ways like that? Fuck you.” He shook off his arm roughly and Michael was forced to let go. “Fuck off.”

“You want to end it? Like this?” Michael asked. Victor reached for the door, and he pressed his hand firmly against it. “No, Victor, I know you don’t. Please.”

“What is your game, Michael?” Victor snapped tiredly. “Go on, humour me. What happens from here. Tell me. Go right ahead.”

“I’ll stay here… I’ll look after my father. We can still talk. We just have to wait.” Michael was waiting for a sign that he was getting through to Victor, but there was nothing. The man’s face was an utter blank. “I will be able to convince him in time. I love you. You _are_ good to me. I know he will see that eventually.” Victor sighed.

“If he never does?” Victor asked, shrugging stiffly. “Say he never likes me. How long do I wait?”

“I… you…” Michael stammered softly. “At least… for a little while,” he finished, in his smallest voice, numbly moving his hand away from the door. Victor stared him down for a long moment.

“No,” he said finally. He opened the door and moved past Michael. A second later, the door was shut behind him, leaving an echo that never seemed to disappear. Michael stood still until the sound of Victor’s footsteps had completely vanished. Then, he sat down on the floor, with his back pressed up against the door, and put his head between his knees.


	4. Four

Michael stood in the hallway with the phone to his ear, listening to it ring unanswered on the other end. He did not have a lot of hope. He’d tried calling Victor once a day since their fight, which, in a moment, would total nine unanswered calls. He was about to hang up, when he heard a sound over the phone. He clutched the handset tighter for support.

“Victor?” he asked needily. “Are you there?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” If Michael were to overanalyse, which was usually his first instinct, Victor sounded calm but, worryingly, disinterested.

“I was hoping to talk to you!” Michael found himself saying. Unnecessarily he knew, seeing as Victor lived alone. Now. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Michael,” Victor said. He did not seem interested in another argument, at least, Michael hoped. Not from the flat, detached way he was talking. “Are you… you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Michael was smiling to himself, which he knew was overzealous. So far, there was nothing to get excited about. Victor was being courteous at best. “But I miss you.” He heard a pause, and the light sound of a sigh.

“All right,” Victor said. “How’s home?”

“Do you miss me?” Michael asked, ignoring what he suspected was bait. Even if it wasn’t, he doubted any good would come from answering. And he cared more about the answer to his own question.

“I guess, Michael, yeah,” Victor sighed. “But let’s not get into it, okay? Seriously, let’s not.” Michael’s heart sunk. He had hoped that when Victor finally answered the phone, it would mean they could start talking about how to get their relationship back on track. He refused to believe that they had broken up. They had just had a fight. That was all.

“I’ve… been reading a lot, since I came home,” Michael said. “There is not much else to do in the evenings. The quiet is nice, but after a while…” He trailed off. Victor did not attempt to fill in the silence, so he was forced to carry on talking. Anything to just keep him from hanging up. “I forgot how difficult it can be to clean such a large house. Still, I suppose I missed my usual routine, in some ways. I imagine you’ve already got back into your own routine, as well.”

“I guess,” Victor muttered.

“This is odd, Victor, but…” Michael wished they were talking face to face, so he could gauge the reactions to what he was saying. “Last night I found myself lying awake and missing the sound of the television in your house. It can be so quiet up here. It’s always impossibly quiet. But when I was there, you had the television on so often, and there were cars going past every now and then, even into the night. It was difficult at first. I don’t sleep well, so the noise… but I realise now that I got used to it. I miss it. It’s actually hard to sleep now, without something in the background. I feel… vulnerable. I feel alone.” This time, he paused, in the hopes that Victor would actually reply. It took a few seconds, but he did.

“I don’t like when it’s too quiet,” Victor said slowly. “I’ve been going out most nights, though. No reason not to. Nothing else to do.”

“No, I suppose not!” Michael laughed awkwardly, as if the comment had been a joke. Victor did not join in. “Uh… have you been going to the Galaxy of Terror?” he asked, realising as he did so that it might be taken the wrong way, and cringing. He had only meant to carry on the conversation, not pry.

“Yes, some nights,” Victor answered carefully. “And that darts bar. Couple of nights I just went out for a drive in the truck. The sky sure is beautiful out here in the country, you know.”

“It is… it is,” Michael agreed. As he was thinking of what to say next, Victor cleared his throat.

“I went on a date with someone, as well,” he said. Michael froze.

“With Carol MacLaine?” he asked, suddenly less warm and far more interested in prying.

“No,” Victor said. “With another man, actually.” Michael shut his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead against the wall. He took a second to reply.

“Oh…” he mumbled. “Was it…? Was it… What was it like?”

“Fine,” Victor said, finally beginning to loosen up, now he had said his secret. “Like, we’re not exactly going to start a retirement fund. But it was all right. It was fun.” He laughed a little at the end, while Michael tried to hold in the various biting things he wanted to say in response.

“I’m happy for you,” he muttered in the end.

“No, you’re not,” Victor said at once. “And I don’t expect you to be. Honestly? I wouldn’t be either, if it was the other way round.” After hesitating for a second, he added quietly, “It was nothing serious, Michael. Barely anything.”

“Please, Victor,” Michael said now, tired of talking around the topic. “I want to see you again. I want to fix it. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Victor asked cagily. Michael sensed a test.

“Everything?” he said, but when Victor began to sigh, he carried on hastily. “I’m sorry for choosing to stay here. I am. I was as I did it! Victor, it’s simply that… I cannot choose you over six years of my life, and my whole future. I couldn’t.”

“I don’t care, Michael. I didn’t want you to. Whatever.” Victor was beginning to sound frustrated, and Michael knew he had missed something. Mercifully, Victor went on, so that he was not forced to guess. “Look, all right? If you had to move home, okay I guess. I get it. Fine. Your dad has a weird hold over you, and he wants you living there, and you have to do what he says. All right. But Michael, you acted like we were fucking doomed to failure. You seemed to think there was no point in even trying because we’re _certainly_ not going to work out long-term. So, I have to ask. Why bother at all? Why should I waste my time, when you don’t think we have a single chance in hell of being serious?”

“Oh… Victor, no, no, it isn’t…”

“No, hey, I’m not fucking faulting you!” Victor laughed darkly. “You’re probably right, right? I don’t do well in relationships. You’re new at this anyway. It’s stupid to think it might work out. Which means it’s time to just walk away and leave it.”

“But you said you loved me!” Michael protested, flinching at how loud it had come out. He hoped he wouldn’t risk waking Harry. Even if he was rooms and rooms away from him.

“Yeah, and you said you loved me. Who cares?” Victor scoffed. “I don’t even know why. You only think you love me cause I’m the first person who fucked you. You’ll get over it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Michael snapped. “I love you because you’re good to me. You are kind to me, while still treating me like a person. You don’t look down on me. You talk to me, and you actually care about what I have to say in response. You seem to think I’m interesting, when I know I’m not. You actually enjoy spending time with me. I am not a… chore to you. I’m not a decoration. You treat me… like I exist in three dimensions.” He stopped himself. It felt futile, and it was beginning to hurt.

“Michael…” Victor said, with resignation. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to try,” Michael said sadly. “I want it to go back to how it was, and be good again.”

“Well, it won’t,” Victor sighed. “It’s different, because you wanted to fuck off and live under the thumb. You know I can’t do that, right? That I can’t live with a magnifying glass hovering over my head? If your father doesn’t want me dating you, then that’s one thing, but if you insist on doing everything he says, then how is this supposed to work?” Michael thought for a moment. He had an opening, and he was not going to waste it.

“If I can reason with him, and persuade him to give my relationship with you a chance, will you promise me that you’ll try?” Michael asked.

“I… suppose so, Michael,” Victor said hesitantly. “But good fucking luck to you.”

“I think I can,” Michael went on, emboldened. He had already considered this part, in the hopes that he could talk Victor around. He was starting to feel good again. He had a shot. “My birthday is coming up soon. I have been on my very best behaviour since I came home. I think Mr. Stewart would be willing to show me some sympathy, now that I’ve proven I’m willing to go back to my old life. I’ll talk to him. And then…” He already had the picture in his head. Victor just had to say yes. “We can all have dinner together. Properly. I know you can talk him around and convince him to like you, if you try. You have a way with words. Will you come? Will you do it?”

“You want me to have dinner with you and your dad,” Victor echoed. “On your birthday. And you think it’s going to solve everything?”

“I hope it will,” Michael replied firmly.

“Well, Michael, if it’s what you want. But if it blows up, you’re lining up one shitty birthday for yourself,” Victor scoffed. Michael smiled to himself.

“They are rarely that special,” he said. “It’s next week –”

“I remember when it is!” Victor interrupted. “Act like I don’t know what day your birthday is! God. I already have your present.”

“You do?” Michael asked, genuinely quite surprised, and touched by the idea. “Where did you hide it? I would have found it!”

“You know that box I keep in the top of the wardrobe marked ‘Rare Betamax Tentacle Hentai’?” Michael wrinkled his nose. He did. “Yeah, I found that label’s a great way to keep nosy people out of my shit. It’s where I put anything I want to keep hidden.”

“Oh… well, what else is in there?” Michael asked, wondering if he managed to frame it as casual interest. Victor laughed at him.

“Mementos and a whole load of other exciting things you don’t get to know about. Stay out of my tentacle hentai box.” Michael rolled his eyes. This was beginning to feel like they were back at Victor’s house, with everything just how it had been. He was relieved.

“To be clear, Victor, there are no… tapes in the box, as advertised, are there? The label is to ward people off? Exclusively?”

“How about you don’t _open_ the box at any point, and we both agree to keep the mystery alive?” Victor suggested. Michael let out a light sigh. “I should go now, though.”

“What? Why?” Michael asked anxiously, clutching the phone tight against his face, as if he was clinging onto Victor himself.

“I have work to do tonight,” Victor explained. “Listen, though… set up your disaster dinner if you want to. Give me a call when it’s arranged. Coach me on how to impress your rude fucking father. I’ll even try. Oh, and I promise to actually pick up the phone next time you call. Okay?”

“Yes, yes, you hate it when it rings,” Michael said, laughing with relief. “I will. I will call tomorrow.”

“Then let’s leave it at that for now,” Victor said.

“Yes. For now,” Michael agreed, smiling.


	5. Five

On the morning of Michael’s birthday, he ate a quiet breakfast with Harry. He took the gift Harry had waiting for him thankfully, and acted surprised when it turned out to be clothes, the same as always. He had been pestering his father for days about having Victor over to dinner, and Harry had finally, tiredly, agreed to the idea last night. At the last minute. Once he had the approval, Michael had called Victor at once to tell him. He would be there that afternoon, and Michael could not wait. They had not seen each other since the fight, though Michael had enforced a few phone calls since the last one. Victor always seemed relatively glad to hear from him, even if he still refused to accept that the dinner was a good idea. Michael didn’t care. It was going to work. He was sure it would. It had to.

Michael spent the day largely on his own, outside of the usual lunch excursion. There was no-one else to wish him a happy birthday, seeing as no-one knew. Harry had long since drilled into him the idea that their private lives were no-one else’s business. Michael suspected that, in this case, it was because Harry did not want anyone to know exactly how old Michael was. Harry enjoyed perpetuating the charade that they were employer and aide, rather than father and son. Michael had been too young when he had first arrived for that to be even slightly believable. As such, he spent most of the day in his room, reading, and waiting for dinner. He spent twice as long as usual neatening himself up as the time drew closer. In amongst settling his hair into place, over and over, he found plenty of time to practice what he would say to Victor when he saw him. Going over the exact type of smile he was going to wear. When the agreed upon time was close, Michael went through to the entryway to wait. He paced back and forth in his new linen suit, waiting. And at last there was a knock at the door.

“Victor!” Michael said at once as he pulled it open, sounding overeager and smiling widely. Victor was standing there all right. Though you would not have known it at a glance. As opposed to his usual plaid and jeans, a treasured routine only ever broken up by the occasional long-sleeved t-shirt, Victor was wearing dark trousers and a dark red shirt. He had even made the effort of tucking it in. His hair was neatly combed back behind his ears, and he did not smell of leaves or vodka, but rather faintly of peach. It was like looking at a completely different man. He had made an effort. Michael’s prepared comments went completely out the window.

“Happy birthday, champ,” Victor said, stepping forward and kissing him fleetingly on the cheek. “Lucky number twenty-two, ey?”

“It’s twenty-four that is lucky,” Michael corrected, unable to stop himself. He was still in a state of awe.

“Anything over twenty-one is lucky, ‘cause they let you drink,” Victor argued playfully, grinning. He reached down by his feet for a small gift bag and held it out for Michael to take. He did, greedily, eager to see what Victor had got for him. “It’s nothing special,” Victor insisted, before he could even get it open. “Not as good as the last present.” There was a rectangle inside the bag, wrapped in paper. When Michael tore the paper open, he revealed a small book. The title indicated it was a poetry collection. It was second hand, he thought. An older book. Interested, he opened the cover and flicked through it. The pages flipped themselves to a specific poem, and Michael realised that there was something stuck in the spine. He touched it gently with his thumb. It was a pressed flower, one of the daisy-a-likes that bloomed whenever it rained. He looked up from the book to see that Victor was staring off into the distance with a shy grin sitting on his pink face.

“What –” Michael started to ask.

“It’s nothing much,” Victor insisted weakly. “I put some flowers on a few of the pages. Where the poems made me think of you. It’s not a big deal. Just thought you’d like the personal touch. It feels stupid now, kind of falls flat after everything that happened. Anyway. Happy birthday.” He made an attempt to laugh it off.

“I love it,” Michael murmured. Victor glanced at him shyly and then away again, grinning harder. Michael couldn’t stop himself. He reached out a hand to Victor’s shoulder and, as soon as he turned, kissed him on the mouth. Victor allowed it for a few seconds before gently pulling away.

“Let’s just see how dinner goes, yeah?” he mumbled, shuffling quickly past Michael and into the mansion. Michael didn’t need to answer, but he nodded vaguely while a smile spread over his face and his chest swelled. He tucked the book back into the bag, intending to hide it away in his room before the fiasco that would be dinner began.

Victor waited for Michael to lead him down the corridor. Nerves began to creep up on Michael as they walked, but he refused to give in to the feeling. He was going to make tonight work. Harry was waiting at the table already. He made steady eye contact with Victor when they came into sight of one another, and Michael thought he felt Victor flinch beside him. Though it could have been his imagination.

“Michael, go and fetch us something to drink,” Harry said coolly. “While Victor and I have a little chat.” Michael’s fingers shivered. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to put up an argument. Victor glanced at him before going and sitting down opposite Harry, tapping his fingers on the table top. Harry stared at Michael witheringly, until Michael felt like he was going to collapse.

“I’ll just put this away I think, and go and get us all a drink,” Michael said. He walked quickly to his room, where he placed Victor’s gift lovingly on top of his bookcase where it would be safe. He allowed himself a deep breath. Then, he readied himself for the oncoming assault. Out of the bedroom, he stopped himself from glancing over at his father and boyfriend who, he noticed, were sitting in stony silence. He disappeared towards the kitchen to fetch some wine. The food that Harry had ordered for them was sitting on the counter, under covers. Michael ignored it for the moment, finding a good bottle and enough glasses, and making his way back. When he returned, there was actual conversation going on.

“I’m a writer,” Victor was saying.

“An author? And you make money at that?” Harry asked in response. Michael sat down silently in between them and began to pour the wine for the table.

“Not really an author,” Victor said carefully. “I freelance. Short stories and articles and things. I make enough money to live on.” Harry was frowning, but only in his usual way so far, Michael thought.

“Then you’re more of a journalist?” Harry suggested.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that, but… well, sort of,” Victor said. “I’m just a writer.” Michael gently nudged a glass towards him and Victor took it and sipped, casting his eyes towards Michael briefly and thankfully. Despite asking that Michael go and get drinks to begin with, Harry did not seem to want to avail himself of anything.

“What about your parents?” Harry went on without so much as a pause. “What do they do?”

“I don’t see them much,” Victor answered with delicacy. “They live in England. Can’t see the ol– my father making that big a trip.” Harry did not seem satisfied, and Michael stared pleadingly at Victor, hoping he had more. “Uh,” Victor carried on, eyes darting between the two of them. “My father runs a private school. He’s a headmaster. Mam doesn’t do much. You know how us English are, we’re a sickly bunch. She’s not up to it.”

“A private school…?” Harry said dryly, and Michael could sense the sarcasm. “Is it a _boy’s_ school, I suppose…?” He put on a faint smirk.

“It is,” Victor said slowly. “It suits him well enough, as a thing to do, since they moved back there. I don’t think the man was built for work, but then, those people aren’t.”

“And what people are those?” Harry asked, amused, clearly expecting some kind of embarrassing answer. Victor smiled lightly to himself.

“The aristocratic lot,” he said, triflingly smug. “I think it was always a difficult adjustment to go from garden parties and sitting twelve seats from the royal family at the races to _parenthood_ and _employment_. His family were not especially pleased, either, so I suppose that’s life.”

“I suppose you’re trying to imply that _you_ are from some element of nobility,” Harry scoffed, annoyed by the turn in the conversation. Victor shrugged, wearing a ghost of a smirk across his lips.

“I’ve no need to imply,” Victor said, with a slight rise in his accent that went towards the English. “My father was an aristocrat, I suppose, yes, but I have no idea what that would make me. We really don’t have that much in common, he and I. Yes, you could argue that Harry Victor Culpepper was, how you put it, some element of nobility. But Victor Chewits is a lot more humble.” He finished his sentence with another sip of wine, pointedly sticking out his little finger as he drank.

“Victor, uh, what do you mean?” Michael asked, hoping to guide him back onto the path of politeness before this turned into an actual argument at the table.

“I didn’t mention that either, did I?” Victor said. “My parents are the Culpeppers. I changed my last name after I turned eighteen. I should have said. I seem to forget to say a lot of things.”

“There are a lot of things we all manage not to say,” Harry added coolly. “Now, Michael, if you would not mind. I think we would all like to eat.”

“Of course, Mr. Stewart,” Michael sighed, getting up from the table, and hoping that when he returned they would both still be alive. He went back to the kitchen, loaded himself up with plates like a server, and headed back. This time, when he returned, Harry and Victor were silent. Harry was taking it upon himself to finally drain his glass.

Michael laid out the plates elegantly on the table and removed the covers. It was expensive food. Harry had gone all out, and if Michael thought that it was a sign of affection, he would have been touched. It was, however, much more like a set of bared teeth. A display. For show.

“Oh, uh…” Victor began. Michael and Harry both looked at him as he frowned uneasily at the plate in front of him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t eat meat. I can’t eat this.” Michael’s heart stopped.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted frantically. “You must do.” Victor glared at him.

“You lived with me for weeks, and you’ve never once seen me eat meat,” he hissed. “Did you not notice? I cooked for us. What did you think? I go and eat steaks in secret?” Michael was trying to remember, but much to his horror, he could not think of anything that proved Victor was lying. He had just failed to process the information until now.

“You never mentioned it explicitly…” Michael mumbled as a faint protest.

“Well, I for one am not surprised,” Harry said, sounding amused by this latest fumble. “I trust that next you will inform us that you are very close with your mother. And perhaps, after that, that you look back fondly on your time as a choir boy. Maybe even –”

“I was kicked out of the choir when they caught me kissing the vicar’s son in the rectory,” Victor said dryly. “It was just as well. It was too much of a struggle to hold up the sheet music with these limp wrists of mine.” Michael let out a nervous giggle. He looked over at his father to see that, despite himself, Harry had found the comment funny. Though he quickly recovered.

“If you do not want to eat, then feel free to sit there while we do,” Harry scoffed. “Michael. Eat.” Michael went to do so right away. Victor sat back in his chair and worried the hair that hung down past his ear, to the sound of knives and forks moving quietly in the background. Michael had a sense that this dinner was not going well. He wondered what had tipped him off. As he shoved forkfuls of food uncomfortably into his mouth, he realised that nothing was going to improve without his help.

“Victor is a surprisingly talented writer,” he said abruptly. Harry stared blankly at him, and he struggled to bury the rising panic so he could go on. “He is! And, uh, he is very well-versed in literature as well. He studied poetry at university.”

“A poet, as well,” Harry quietly crowed, cutting his dinner into pieces. “I feel as if I’m at supper with Oscar Wilde.”

“I see myself as more of a Lord Byron type,” Victor argued cheerfully. “Though I didn’t _just_ study poetry. I managed to wrap my head around some novels as well.” He paused, lifting up his glass of wine and swirling it for effect, before taking a sip. “Maybe I’ll write one someday.”

“How did the two of you meet?” Harry asked, changing the subject. “I wondered to myself, after my son vanished in the night, what could possibly have happened to him. How?”

“You thought he’d killed that girl and run off with her blood on his hands… right?” Victor interrupted, smiling innocently. “I was at the town meeting. I heard you.” Harry glared coldly at him, but the comment had reminded Michael of what Harry had done, and the look Michael put on his face made it clear that pushing the point was not wise.

“Yes… I briefly thought that,” Harry muttered darkly.

“Mr. Stewart,” Michael said suddenly, feeling bold enough to ask the question outright for the first time. “Did you really think that I killed Anna? Or were you… hoping that I would take the blame for someone _else?_ ” He knew what he suspected. Harry had talked to him at length in the past about George Woodman, and the dangerous path he was walking down. Michael knew well about the sort of things that Harry’s eldest son had got up to under cover of darkness. He knew, in his heart, that when one of the girls that had fallen into the sheriff’s dark circle of influence had been killed, that Harry would have immediately known who to suspect. And yet, he had gone out in front of the whole town to point the finger in another direction. He could not seriously have thought that Michael, shy and retiring, isolated from the rest of the townsfolk, approval-seeking, and largely gentle as he was, had committed the murder. He had to have known. Which meant he had done what he had done on purpose. To spare George at Michael’s expense.

Harry looked at Michael without saying a word. He felt him out with his eyes, and as Michael watched him planning some careful response, he grew angrier. How his father could sit there and judge him after what he himself had done, he couldn’t understand. And why he was sitting there and taking it, he also couldn’t understand.

“I will tell you how we met,” Michael announced. The two of them were both staring at him now. Harry was waiting, cautiously trying to balance his position in the conversation, and Victor was looking on with what Michael wanted to believe was admiration. Though it was more likely amusement. “The night I left, I was feeling particularly unhappy, and thought that driving into town for a drink might do at least something to curb the swirling feelings of isolation. I have done just that occasionally in the past. No more than once a month, at most. A single drink and a single hour is typically enough to tide me over for weeks and weeks of quietly cleaning and reading here alone. However, when I left the building, it began to rain. Heavily, I suppose. I do not remember. I was quickly… overcome.”

“Overcome,” Harry muttered. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be out there, Michael. This town is a dangerous, dangerous place.”

“I’m quite aware,” Michael went on sharply. “The next thing I remember, I woke up in a stranger’s house. I was scared. Confused. At first, I worried that I had been abducted for some… unpleasant purposes. But Victor was there. He reassured me. You want to know how we met? He found me wandering in the street, like a ghoul, and brought me home, at great risk to himself, because he thought that turning me over to the police in that state would be unacceptably dangerous for me. Knowing what I know now, I feel that if he had called the sheriff that night, I would have woken up in a cell covered in Anna Graham’s blood.” Michael glared at Harry and pointed in his direction. “I can’t be certain you would have protested that inevitability in any way.”

“Michael, you understand of course that if you had stayed inside, as I have told you to do countless times, then none of that would have happened to begin with?” Harry asked darkly. “This whole experience is the result of you not listening to me. It is your bad behaviour that caused all of it.”

“No!” Michael insisted, emboldened and angered, and ready to say a mess of things he had been holding back for what might have been years. “This is the result of _your_ choices! Victor allowed me to stay with him after he found out that I was suspected of murder. Even after how we met. And, father, do you know what he did then? Once I explained to Victor that breathing in the air during a rainstorm can put people out of their minds, Victor decided not to follow your lead and simply hope for the best. Locking the doors and quietly praying that the air inside is ‘safe enough’. No. Instead, Victor brought me a gasmask, and insisted I wear it any time the rain began. A surprisingly easy fix to the problem, which you have never seemed interested in extending to me! Not in all the years I have been here! It’s much easier, I’m sure, for me to be too terrified to ever leave the house, than to tackle the issue directly. That solves _all_ the problems, I suppose. Because the real problem is that I might one day leave. I might remember that normal people do not live like this. I’m twenty-two years old. I don’t have to spend my whole life wasting away in the shadows in this huge, empty house, just because you _need_ me to. _I_ can leave. I had forgotten it was even an option. Victor reminded me. And no matter how much we talk around it. No matter how much we pretend that this is about who or what he is, the only thing it is really about, in the end, is that I might walk away and leave you here alone. And if I do that, if I go away with him and try and build my own life… what will you have left then, father?” He finished and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms, and glaring with venom at Harry. Harry, in return, sat very still with a blank look of surprise on his face. No-one broke the silence. None of them were willing to make such a risky move. Michael felt good, probably better than he had in years, but now that his speech was over, the panic was coming for him. Trying to rush in. He knew what he had done.  He had done so much.

“Mr. Stewart,” Victor said finally, in a quiet and respectful voice, after solid minutes of silence. “I realise you’re worried about losing your son, and I know I didn’t help much the last time I was here. The thing is, I don’t want to do any damage here. If I’m being honest, like really painfully honest, then I have to tell you that I love him. I know I said that, and I know a lot of people say that. It’s just that I never say it, and I never mean it. This is actually… and I sort of have to laugh here, and you would if you knew me, for sure… this isn’t me at all. Every other time I’ve even got close to feeling something real for someone, I’ve headed for the hills. Or better yet, got them to pull the plug for me. I can’t do that this time. I wanted to at first, for sure, but it’s got the better of me. Michael’s really done a number on me. He makes me think that maybe I’m not a total piece of shit, you know? Or uh, not a wreck of a person, I meant to say. Like, he sees something good and meaningful in me, something I really want to be real. And don’t worry, I get that he’s too good for me. Believe me, I do. But I love him. I really fu – truly do. I wanna respect that, for both our sakes. I think it’s worth it. ‘Cause it’s rare, loving someone properly, and I don’t think I’d find it again. I don’t even think I’d want to.” Victor smiled at Michael, clearly fighting back a wave of discomfort that came from years of burying the type of feelings he was trying to express now. He reached out for Michael’s hand, and Michael gave it to him, clutching his tightly. “I just want to make this work,” Victor murmured, staring at Michael, the love in his smile winning out at last.

“I’ll go if you fight this,” Michael said, turning back to address his father. “I’ll leave. I don’t care what you do, or what you threaten, or what you tell me is going to happen. If you fight this any longer, then I will leave, and you can rot here all by yourself.” He bit his lip for a moment, then finished with a snarl. “And if you have a problem with that, then you should not have run away from your _real_ family, and had to settle for me to begin with!” That particular barb had been waiting to come out for a long, long time. It felt good to be able to finally spit it out.

“Is that so, Michael?” Harry asked. Michael could no longer read his tone. It was lost in a lack of emotion. Harry could be feeling anything. He could be thinking anything.

“It’s so,” Michael insisted coolly. “I love Victor, and I intend to be with him from now on. One way or another.” Harry took a moment to weigh it all up. Michael did not break his cold gaze, though inside he was quickly descending into a mess. He had never been this daring in his life. He doubted he ever would be again.

“I have no doubt that your relationship is going to eventually end in flames,” Harry said at last. “But if you truly need to see it through, to prove whatever you’re trying to prove to yourself, to live out whatever dream you have in your head, then very well. I cannot stop you, as you have so clearly pointed out, and I won’t. Make your own mistakes, Michael. But when the inevitable fire comes, I will not be sympathetic.” That was all Michael needed.

“Thank you,” he said. “I promise that I’ll –”

“As I said,” Harry cut in. “Make your own _mistakes_. Now…” He sighed loudly. “I am too tired for anymore of this tonight. Michael, perhaps you can find something for your friend to eat so that he does not see us as completely inhospitable, and then be so kind as to show him out by the end of the evening. We can talk more tomorrow. For tonight… enjoy the rest of your birthday, Michael. I hope you find that wisdom comes with age.” Harry smiled bitterly for a moment, before letting the expression collapse back into a blank frown. “It did for me.” He offered the two of them a brief wave of his hand, and moved himself off towards a door, to leave. Michael watched him go, then turned to Victor. He did not have time to prepare before Victor grabbed him, kissed him, and bent him backward with the force of it. Michael clung to him tightly and still almost managed to crumple to the floor. He was riding a rush of giddiness, and needed time to process. Victor pulled him back up and beamed at him.

“So, there it is!” he said. “Looks like you’re stuck now, Mickey. You and me. Basically got it in writing.”

“You had better get it into your _head_ ,” Michael murmured, stroking his fingers through Victor’s hair. “I won’t tolerate any more of your bad behaviour now, do you understand?”

“You’re referring to Carol, I’ll assume,” Victor said. Michael nodded. Obviously. He wasn’t talking about Victor’s leniency with work deadlines. “Fine, there won’t be any repeats of that. I trust that if we ever go and visit _my_ family, you can keep it in your trousers as well.”

“I… of course I can!” Michael muttered. He never liked being reminded of his brief lapse in judgement. Even if Victor found it funny, he still didn’t. It was a bit too fresh a wound to poke at. “I mean it though, Victor. I know the way you think. You won’t get away with trying to ruin things just because you’re afraid. I won’t let you.”

“If I try, lock me in the basement,” Victor teased, grinning. Michael smiled wearily.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked. “I really should have thought about it before.”

“No, I’m good,” Victor replied. “I actually got something at the diner earlier. I can’t eat rich people food. Never understood anyone who’d turn down pizza for fah grah.”

“Do you mean _foie gras_ …?” Michael sighed. Victor shrugged, giggling, and Michael knew it wasn’t worth it. He smiled instead. He was too happy not to.

“There is something I’d rather do,” Victor said now, brushing Michael’s hair from his face. “And it _is_ your birthday…” Michael had an idea of what he meant. He sensed it was going to be more fun than blowing out a candle.


	6. Six

A little while later, in his bedroom with the door firmly locked, Michael lay back on his bed with his head on the pillow. His and Victor’s clothes were both in a pile on the floor, and his now reappointed boyfriend was currently kissing his thighs. Michael was more than ready to get back to this part of their relationship. Since their fight, and the inevitable loneliness that had followed, he had been quite frustrated. Jerking himself off in the shower just hadn’t been the same. Not even when he’d been doing it twice as much as he’d used to. He made a small, secret mental note that if things ever did blow up with Victor, and he found himself on his own again, he wouldn’t spend too long in mourning before finding someone else to help him out in that respect. Though this time, maybe not his boyfriend’s sister.

“Are you ready?” Victor asked, and Michael twitched expectantly.

“Yes,” he answered. More than, he thought. Victor took hold of Michael’s cock and ran his tongue over the tip. Without waiting, he put his lips over it and sucked softly. Michael pressed his head further back into the pillow and arched his throat. He closed his eyes, and felt Victor lick the head again before taking it into his mouth. He sucked lightly at first, teasing, then, as Michael began to gently moan, he brought more of it into his mouth. Soon, Victor was sucking properly, with one hand around the base of Michael’s cock and the other holding him down at the thigh. Michael twitched and moaned, while thinking over and over how delighted he was that they had managed to resolve everything before the end of his birthday. If they hadn’t, he would have had to ask for some kind of do-over. Victor’s real present, sitting over on the bookcase, might have been more lovingly chosen, but right now he found this was the only thing he wanted.

“I love you,” Michael breathed, glancing downwards. Victor lifted his hand from Michael’s thigh to briefly offer him a thumbs up, then put it back where it had been, and gave him a squeeze. He carried on what he was doing without breaking the rhythm. Michael shut his eyes again and chewed on his lip, wondering why he had managed to go through so many birthdays to date without anyone offering to suck his cock. Whatever the reason, he decided it really wasn’t fair. He’d had a complicated life. This was the least he deserved. It was a true mercy that Victor had finally strolled into view for him. With those soft, pink lips of his, wide open.

Victor sped up a little, stroking his hand up and down Michael’s cock as he sucked. Michael couldn’t do anything in response but moan and groan and enjoy the moment. When Victor took his hand away and brought his lips the rest of the way down, all Michael could manage was heavy panting. As he got close to the edge, he reached his twitching hands needily down for Victor, and tugged and twisted his hair in his fingers. It was good just to touch him. Michael bit hard into his lip to keep himself quiet, digging his fingers further into Victor’s hair when it became difficult to keep from crying out. Any moment now. Victor knew well enough how Michael was feeling, and pulled back for just a second to stroke and prod the tip of Michael’s cock with his tongue, before sucking down hard on the full length of his cock. That was it. Michael whined sharply and came in Victor’s mouth, as he screwed his fingers, wrapped messily in locks of blonde hair, up against Victor’s scalp. He lay back, breathing heavily as his cock pumped into the warmth around it. He rolled his eyes with effort and tilted his head down. Victor pulled away, pressing a hand over his mouth. He leant over Michael, took the hand away, and smiled. Then, in the next second, kissed him. And opened his mouth, pushing his tongue and a wash of cum into Michael’s mouth. Michael pushed him away, panting.

“You don’t like the taste?” Victor breathed, smirking. Michael coughed.

“I taste blood,” he said. Among other things.

“It’s your lip,” Victor said, jerking his chin towards it. He reached across and wiped at Michael’s mouth, pulling his hand back with a milky trail of blood and cum sticking to his fingers. “You really didn’t want to risk waking the neighbours.”

“Do you blame me? After that dinner?” Michael said, beginning to laugh. “The last thing I need is for us to be overheard doing… what we were just doing.”

“Yeah, well, at least your dad would know that I look after his son’s best interests,” Victor teased, breaking out his favourite grin. “Honestly, you have to admit that I’m a gentleman.” Michael wiped his own mouth on the back of his hand and stared at the mess, cocking an eyebrow.

“Gentlemen do not typically spit into their boyfriend’s mouths,” he scoffed. “Especially not _that_.”

“I always think it’s kind of hot,” Victor laughed. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and pulled them out clean. “Anyway, you taste fine. I can really tell you like your pineapples.”

“Then why did you put up such a fight when I wanted to have it on our pizza?” Michael asked, remembering that particular fuss vividly.

“Because I’m a human being,” Victor said seriously. Then he went back to grinning. “But hey. It’s good to be back with you, Michael. I missed you. I can be big and admit that now. I missed you a lot.” Michael smiled nervously to himself, shyly pleased. Victor shifted around and lay down next to him, and Michael rested his head back down on the pillow, staring back at him with a feeling of peace. “Listen…” Victor began softly. “We need to talk about what we do from here. You never officially moved in with me, so if you come back now… that’s a proper step, this time. That’s for real.”

“I’m not sure what I should do,” Michael admitted. This was still not a conversation he wanted to have, but he knew it was better here, face to face, than over a series of phone calls in the coming days. “I would feel guilty leaving for good. I know my father will be more amenable to our relationship if I keep living here with him. He has done a lot wrong, but I do still believe, in my heart, that he cares about me.” Michael sighed. “I know what I said at dinner, Victor, but the truth will always be that my relationship with him is one of the most important things in my life. If there is any way to avoid ruining it, then that’s what I need to do. My father is important to me. I know that you… cannot really understand what that’s like.” He watched for Victor’s reaction, and saw his face cloud slightly. Victor’s frown was not angry or even annoyed, but concerned. There was a moment in which Michael waited for Victor to speak, in which nothing happened, before Victor reached out and held onto Michael’s hand.

“When I was three…” Victor started, with an uncertain solemnness that Michael did not recognise. “My dad pushed me down the stairs.”

“What?” Michael asked sharply. Victor’s eyes flickered over him, then he went back to staring down, off into space.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “He came up behind me. Pushed me down the stairs. I wasn’t too badly hurt, thankfully, just kind of banged up. I remember looking up from the bottom in a daze. Thought it was an accident, you know, as you do. I assumed I’d see him standing there in a panic, or see him rushing down to pick me up and check I was okay. Not what happened. Instead, I see him standing there, with his arms folded, just staring back at me. After a few seconds, he walked away. My mam found me there after a couple of minutes, scooped me up, got me all sorted out. She told me how clumsy I was for falling down the stairs, and how I had to be more careful. I didn’t argue. Never really mentioned it again. It was just… something that happened.”

“Victor, that’s… an awful story,” Michael murmured. He was shocked. Victor shrugged off his concern.

“Look, I have a lot of stories like that, okay?” he said stiffly. “Things were meant to be different after the family moved out to Boston, and then when they weren’t, things were meant to be different when we moved home again. Only I didn’t believe they would be. I was eighteen, freshly minted, and I wanted to stay here and go to university. Not go back home and spend another decade of my life under my father’s thumb, listening to the bastard shout and screech whenever something didn’t go his way. You should have heard what he thought of my life. My career aspirations were all fool’s gold. Idiot’s dreams. My friends and girlfriends were trashy, or too loud, or beneath me. And the one time, oh, the one time when he caught me with a boy, that was it. It wasn’t child’s play anymore, it was serious. I was almost an adult. I should know better. Anna was smarter than me in that regard. She never mixed _private_ with _personal_ , you know? I don’t blame her. I’d never out her. Should have followed her lead. I shouldn’t have tried to reason with my parents. ‘Harry’, he said, while mam just stood there nodding sternly. ‘Harry, this is the last I’m going to hear about this, so help me!’ One step short of ‘no son of mine…’ God. They were already planning the move at that point, but I felt like they sure sped it up, just for me. Too bad they just missed the mark. I was a couple of weeks into eighteen by that point, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Not with them. Anna pleaded with me. Tried to reason with me. ‘Victor, you can’t be serious!’ Over and over, for days. But I was. And then they left. Haven’t seen the old man since. I still remember his face, the last time I saw it, just perfectly. Angry as a fucking shark bite. He wanted to kill me, I expect. It would be far better for him that his son, George Culpepper’s little fucking pride and joy, was dead and buried, rather than the expert failure that I was working hard to become. Well, we agreed on that at least. So, as soon as they left, I got the forms, and I changed my last name. Little joke. Spin off of my mam’s maiden name that had a nice ring to it. Something unique, something just for me. As far as I know, Anna’s kept my little secret, and the old man couldn’t look me up if he wanted to. He’d never even think that Victor Chewits was the same kid he left at a bus station six years back. Six fucking years, that’s a long time. Haven’t even talked to him since then, only Anna and my mum. Maybe I never will again. Not that I mind. Unless he has some last-minute deathbed change of heart, we’re not going to be close anytime soon. And he’s too proud even for that. So, I guess what I’m trying to say, Michael, is that you’re right. I can’t really understand what it’s like to want to be close to your dad. I wouldn’t say my father’s not important to me. I just don’t think there’s any part of our relationship that’s _good_.”

Michael was quiet. There was nothing to say. He should have known. He felt like he should have been able to work out some of it for himself. But he hadn’t. He’d been preoccupied with his own father, with his own issues, and taken Victor’s easy-going brushoffs at face value. He’d known there was something there, something Victor didn’t want to talk about, but he hadn’t explored what it could be. Well, now he knew. And he felt bitter and mournful on Victor’s behalf.

Lacking any words, Michael hugged Victor, and buried his face in his chest. Victor stroked his hair gently, and sighed to himself. Michael clung tighter.

“It’s not an issue for me,” Victor said softly. “It’s not. I barely even think about it. I’ve been by myself since I was eighteen. Hardly speak to them. I get bits of money sometimes, which I think come from my mum. Mostly just to check I’m still alive. Anna and I talk off and on. Puts mam on the phone now and then, if she’s around. Otherwise, I’m by myself. I still kind of have a lot of the things he said hanging around in my head, that’s all. I have a hard time staying close with anyone, and that includes friends. I know people get sick of me easily. I’m the kind of person no-one can stand for too long. Just not very… valuable, I guess. I’m not worth anything. Over time people tend to see that. I mean, if your own dad doesn’t think you’re worth loving –”

“ _I_ love you, Victor,” Michael said insistently, planting his hands on Victor’s cheeks, looking into his eyes. “I love you very much.” Victor began to blink, and Michael realised he was trying not to cry. He didn’t want to watch that. Instead, he kissed Victor, and quickly found himself flattened onto his back on the bed, with Victor rolling on top of him. The kissing was feverish, and, for Victor, it obviously came as a welcome distraction from what they had been talking about. Michael had heard enough already. He understood. Later, sometime later, they could talk about it more. For now, he just wanted things to be happy, and soft, and simple. Victor wrapped a hand around Michael’s thigh and dragged the leg up against him. Michael felt the presence of Victor’s cock pressed against his body. The conversation part was clearly over.

“I want to fuck the freckles off your dick,” Victor breathed into Michael’s mouth. “Do you have another one in you?”

“I think so…” Michael murmured. “Yes. Yes, I do.” Even if he didn’t, he was going to try. This was the kind of emotional avoidance he could endorse.

“All right,” Victor sighed. He leant back onto his knees and began to pull his hair out of his face. Michael sat up, mouth slightly open, wondering. He had planned on asking tonight, anyway. It might as well be now.

“Victor,” he said. “I want you.”

“That’s the plan,” Victor laughed, moving in for another kiss. Michael gingerly eased him away with a palm to the chest.

“No. I want to be the one to have you.” He looked back at the slight confusion on Victor’s face with lidded eyes, and went on thickly: “Let me _fuck_ you tonight.” Victor ran his tongue slowly across his teeth, considering it. He moved his gaze from Michael’s face down to his cock, and then back again. The whole process was painfully slow, as far as Michael was concerned.

“You think you can…?” Victor breathed. Michael gave him a single, firm nod. Victor smirked. “Then let me see what you’ve got, Tillotson. Give it to me.”

“I intend to, Victor. Everything I’ve got.” Victor waited. Michael leant in, holding him at the base of the neck and kissing his lips. He kissed over Victor’s jaw and began a path down the long neck, stopping for a moment and debating with himself.

“Go ahead,” Victor murmured, sensing what he wanted. Michael accepted the invitation, and sucked down on the skin of Victor’s throat, supporting his head with his hand. Victor twisted his face around and kissed Michael’s wrist. Before long, Michael found himself back on his back with Victor kissing his arms and leaving small, inconsequential bites up and down the wrists. He was not as good at taking control as he had hoped, but in the moment, he didn’t mind. Victor hovered over Michael and, grinning down at him, stroked a finger over the tip of his cock.

“Victor, you said I could…” Michael moaned. He couldn’t even make himself protest properly. This would be the same as ever, then. As long as he got laid, he supposed, it wasn’t that big a problem. Though, it would be the first time he got to screw around in his own bedroom, he realised. Victor kissed the top of Michael’s head, putting a hand over his cock and squeezing, at which Michael squirmed appreciatively.

“Yeah, yeah,” Victor sighed, sniggering. “I did. You can. I’m still running it, though. But I’ll let you stick it in me, cause it’s your birthday.” Michael was glad to see he was as romantic as ever, even after their time apart. “Now, there’s just one problem. I don’t actually have any rubber on me. Sort of did not expect us to fuck in your dad’s house. Pleasantly surprised as I am…”

“That’s fine, I have some,” Michael said, reaching over to pull open the drawer of the nightstand. Victor usurped him and yanked the thing open, eagerly pawing through the contents of the drawer. There was not much Michael could do, seeing as Victor was practically sitting on him.

“Naughty, naughty boy!” Victor crowed, waving a packet of cigarettes in Michael’s face. Michael grabbed for them and ended up knocking them out of Victor’s hand and onto the floor.

“It’s an old habit! I barely smoke! I’ve been quitting anyway!” he babbled. He watched in a panic as Victor’s hand briefly fell over his diary, but he quickly moved away from it, and Michael relaxed. Victor found the box of condoms and took them out instead.

“Why do you have these, anyway?” Victor asked. “I thought you were the goodly virgin before we met. Don’t tell me you were secretly bringing the ladies back here all along? Did you bang the nurse after all? That murdered girl? How many poor people have you done the ol’ bump and grind on, Michael?” Michael snatched the box away from him, sighing. He could not deal with one of Victor’s lengthy comedy bits right now. The urge to lay him flat was too strong.

“It’s a new box, as you can see,” he explained wearily. “I bought them in the hopes that dinner would go well, and we might be able to spend the night making up. I mean, without you here, I have been… uh…” He flicked his wrist, looking for the word.

“Horny,” Victor supplied for him.

“ _Wound up_ ,” Michael insisted. “That’s all. And I was right, so it was smart. Although I won’t be able to make eye contact with Lilly Ingram again for a while…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She kept asking me who my girlfriend was.”

“Well, you should have told her that you’re dating a real hottie,” Victor laughed. He stretched his arms over his head, posing. “I’m prettier than any girl in town. Ms. Greenvale, 2009, that’s me.”

“Yes, you would of course win that honour,” Michael laughed lightly. “But as the voting is currently closed, the competition is in your head, and you may be barred from entering for your gender… perhaps we can think of another way to occupy ourselves?”

“My apologies,” Victor said. “I’m distracting you from getting what you want. Now…” He poked Michael playfully on the nose, and Michael defensively covered it with his hands. “Not too rough, all right? Though you got the right kind of cock for it, it should be fine. Not too thick.”

“Well yours is more… I just mean that _I_ never complain,” Michael muttered.

“Because you love it, Michael,” Victor scoffed, and Michael coughed and blushed. “I just haven’t been the, uh… catcher in the rye for a while. So. Gently.”

“It’s a baseball reference, Victor, not a literary one,” Michael sighed. He knew that much. Victor stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes, and Michael sighed again, desperate to get on with it. “Let me start,” he said.

“Well, jerk a guy off a bit, first,” Victor said. Michael did not care to argue. He went to do so right away, grabbing Victor’s cock and tugging it in the slow, shy way that he always did. Victor hummed appreciatively, and Michael carried on, until his hand was pushed away. “Okay, I think you’re good,” Victor murmured. He went for the box of condoms and passed one to Michael, who fiddled with it clumsily until Victor eventually helped him out.

“It’s not my fault the design is confusing,” he muttered, and Victor ignored him, which he was thankful for.

“Sit back,” Victor said. Michael leant back against the wall, with his legs stretched out. Victor knelt over him, and held Michael’s cock firm and straight underneath him. “Stay still,” he said. Michael waited. Victor glanced at him and then sat down slowly, guiding Michael into him. “Okay… sturdy?” Victor murmured.

“Mmm… yes…” Michael breathed. Victor edged Michael further into his ass, then put his hands on his shoulders for balance.

“There… go wild,” Victor said. “Or do you want me to –”

“No, I will!” Michael said quickly. He grabbed onto Victor’s waist and pulled him down gently, pushing upwards and moaning. It was better than he’d hoped.

“Go easy, remember,” Victor reminded him warily. “I know it’s easy to get carried away, but don’t. If you ever want to do it again, you’ll restrain yourself. Are we understood?” Michael nodded. He didn’t care. He was too busy to think about it. Victor’s ass was more interesting than what he was saying. He pushed in again, easing Victor’s hips up and down over his cock.

“Victor, that’s good,” he murmured, breathing heavily against Victor’s face. “Very good. It’s better than it w–”

“So help me god, Michael, if you’re about to make the comparison I think you are, then you’re effectively ejected,” Victor hissed, and Michael realised that, in the moment, he had been about to draw on his one other experience of being inside another person. He had forgotten who it had been. He grinned nervously at Victor, who stared at him with what Michael felt was a mixture of weariness and a total lack of surprise.

“I… wasn’t… didn’t mean… anything…” Michael mumbled.

“That’s it –”

“Please, come on, don’t make me take it out!” Michael begged, clutching Victor tightly. “It’s my _birthday_ , you promised I could try it!” Victor sighed and closed his eyes, tapping his forehead with his knuckle.

“Fine, but you’re gonna sit still and get ridden, and you’re going to be thankful for that much!” Victor said. Michael smiled. That was good enough for him. “Fucking cowboy country anyway,” Victor muttered. He didn’t wait around. Michael whined as Victor set about riding him, squishing his face into Victor’s shoulder and frantically kissing the collarbone. Now that Victor was the one taking charge, he seemed to quickly forget what he had told Michael about being gentle. He was thoroughly careless, and let Michael in a lot deeper than he would have dared to go on his own. A fact Michael thankfully noted, to remember for the next time he managed to talk Victor around to this arrangement.

“Keep going…” Michael mumbled, muted with his mouth squashed into Victor’s neck.

“Shut up, you pretty idiot,” Victor laughed, breathily. He tensed his hands over Michael’s shoulders, sighing heavily. “You better be ready to come soon,” he added.

“No… not yet, it’s not been long enough,” Michael muttered. “The last one was just… it’s not been that long…” He couldn’t think of a time when he’d managed two in one day before. Though, the way it was feeling, he knew today would be the day for it. Victor scoffed.

“That’s up to you, but if I come, you have to get it out. I can’t handle it right after. So, my love, if I were you –”

“Fine!” Michael gasped. He wasn’t going to lose the race under those rules. The idea of coming inside Victor was half the point. He’d let his boyfriend do the same to him. It was his turn. As much as he had told himself that he liked the idea because it was intimate, romantic, and other such nonsense, he knew in the moment that it just turned him on. Which, considering he was under pressure, was helpful.

Michael wrapped his hands tightly around Victor’s ass and pushed with his cock. Victor squeezed him back. Michael put his mouth to Victor’s collarbone and sucked down, hard and rough, and listened to Victor’s low whine in response. He tasted the faint, distant sting of blood and let go, putting his mouth further up Victor’s neck and doing the same again. He forced his cock up again and heard more low, hard-earned sounds slipping out of Victor’s mouth. Panting, and little whines that he knew were unconscious, because they were out of character.

“Come on, Michael,” Victor breathed, leaning forward and putting his mouth to Michael’s ear for a moment. “Show me what years of repression can do.”

“Years of repression can do just as well as years of impropriety, in the right environment,” Michael moaned back darkly. Victor sniggered to himself, relaxing enough for Michael to take over. Which he did. Michael pumped into Victor, thinking, while he did, about the sight earlier of Victor’s mouth around his cock. He could tell from the combined signs of Victor’s cock twitching, eyes-tightly shut, shivering, that he was desperately trying to hold back. The least Michael could do now would be to come without too much delay. He shut his eyes and tried to return to his thought, but suddenly, for some reason, the picture that filled his head was Victor standing at the table in the mansion, hands planted firmly on the table, angry and wild, and crying out ‘And I _love him!_ ’. Michael smiled to himself. He replayed the moment in his head again, this time ending it with Victor taking him violently into his arms, and flattening him out on the tablecloth with rough kisses. Then, as the Victor in his head forced open the button of his trousers and shoved his hand in, and the Victor on top of him mumbled and dug his shivering nails into his shoulders, Michael gave a last thrust. He came, and flopped his head back against the wall, as his cock did its best to twitch out an orgasm in the tight space. Seconds later, Victor cried out in an especially dramatic display, and Michael tiredly opened his eyes to see him clutching his wet cock in his hand. Victor made eye contact for a moment and groaned, as he gently stroked himself, covering his hand in cum. He rolled his eyes back in his head, and climbed off Michael carefully. Michael slid down until his head was back on the pillow, and shut his eyes again, hazy and happy.

After a few minutes, he felt Victor gently kiss him, and looked up. Victor smiled down, his hair falling in golden strands around his face. His shirt was back on. He must have gone to the bathroom to clean up, though Michael had not noticed. He had been drifting in space.

“Not as bad as I thought,” Victor scoffed softly.

“You always ruin the moment,” Michael complained, but his objection was weak, and so was he. He couldn’t move right now even if there was a fire.

“The only thing I ruined is you,” Victor teased, kissing him again.

“No, you didn’t,” Michael said, seriously. He stroked Victor’s cheek lovingly with the back of his hand. “Not at all.” Victor bit his lip and looked off to the side, but Michael caught the repressed smile and the flushing cheeks. “I love you, Victor.”

“Yeah, Michael, I… I love you too.” He laughed nervously and stood up straight. Michael began to sit up, while Victor continued talking in a rush. “We never really fully decided what we’re doing, did we?” he babbled. Michael began to sort himself out, while Victor carried on. “Look, I know I tease, but you can move in if you want. Let me rephrase that. I wanna ask you to move in with me, if you want to. We’ll get a bigger place, maybe. Have room for your stuff, and get a proper stand for the TV, and maybe even two bathrooms so I can occasionally take a piss even when you’re spending thirty fucking minutes playing with your hair. Maybe even a couple of fucking plants or a cat or something, I don’t know. I don’t know how it works. I’m just saying… well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t go for it. This feels good to me. I might not be a great judge of good ideas, but you’ve got your head on your shoulders, so you can tell me if I’m being a stupid motherfucker or not. Right?”

“Victor –” Michael did not have a chance. Victor barrelled straight ahead. He shifted nervously side to side as he spoke.

“I just think, and stop me if you want,” Victor carried on, as fast as he could get the words out. “I think we could be a real couple. A happy couple… of fucks, kidding ourselves maybe, cause it’s all kind of a joke, all that commitment stuff. I just feel, like, if it’s gonna work with _anyone_ , then it’s gonna be you. Like, show me anyone in the world, but I’m still thinking… I’m thinking you’re the one I want to be with. Bring me the trashiest B movie actress to ever live, the king of fucking blow jobs, or a 1985 era Jeffrey Combs, and I’ll still pick you. That’s what I’m trying to say, it’s just… that’s a big deal, do you get it?”

“I do, and Victor –” Again, there was no hope of interrupting Victor’s stream of word vomit, though Michael found he was smiling all through it.

“I love you! Shit!” Victor ran his hands frantically through his hair, while Michael set about buttoning his shirt back up. “You’re… You’re… Fuck! I’ve never felt this stuff before! This whole thing is fucking crazier than I am, and that’s saying something! God, Michael, I can’t express it right. I’m fucking it up. I love you. I’m trying to ask you… I’m just trying to find the right way to ask you…”

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?!” Michael screamed out loud, clutching his hands over his chest. He hadn’t imagined it was coming, but now it all made sense. Victor had been so crushed when Michael had seemed to doubt their future together, because he had been thinking of this all along. It was fast, certainly, Michael admitted that. Though he could not think of a better way to prove to each other that they truly believed their relationship was going to last. So he wondered why, now that he had shouted out his surprise, Victor was staring at him as if he had shot a revolver into his chest.

“Are you fucking with me?” Victor gasped, like a man with seconds to live. “No. I am _not!_ ” Michael’s face fell. Victor laughed, coming up alongside a bubble of panicked breaths. “God, Michael, seriously. _No_. I am trying to ask you to move in with me. I want you to move in with me for real. I know what you said about staying here for your dad, and I understand if you say no, but I really want this, and I have to at least ask.” He shook his head, giggling madly. “Marry you. Christ. You do love to rush things, don’t you? Next week you’ll be asking me how I feel about kids.”

“We should probably discuss that anyway, at some point,” Michael mumbled. “Uh, for the future. So that neither of us is surprised.”

“Okay, fine, here’s that conversation,” Victor scoffed. “No kids. Nada. Wow. That was fast. Now we have plenty of free time left for you to answer my actual question. Michael Tillotson – over-eager, anxious, occasionally spiteful, witty little demon that I love – would you move in with me?” He held out his hand for show. Michael looked at it, considering all the problems that came with his answer. The many spanners that would be thrown into the works of his future. He took the hand, smiling widely, unconcerned.

“Yes!” he answered. “Yes, Victor!” Victor pulled him in close and held him, head on his shoulder. He let out a pleasant sigh, cupping Michael’s head with his hand.

“Thank god for that,” he said. “I think if you’d rejected me, I’d have to actually regret scooping a zombie out of the road and trapping it in my basement for my own amusement. I’d hate to think that that was a bad idea...”

“Just shut up,” Michael sighed warmly, clinging to him. “You never, ever know when to shut up.”

“And I will never, ever learn,” Victor murmured back. And Michael, for once, didn’t have any doubt.

 


End file.
